


Ricordanoi

by Astray



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo e Giulietta - Ama e Cambia il Mondo
Genre: Character Death Mentioned, Gen, I AM SORRY, I should not be allowed near writing tools, Modern AU, a bit - Freeform, but it's not as sad as it sounds, feels breakage, or rather - it is but it gets better, post-play, that's Romeo and Juliet for you, what do you expect?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2404526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Ricordanoi' - remember us. The plight of those who died, leaving the living to mourn, and remember days passed. Benvolio has trouble mourning his friends, and his thoughts wander. Ultimately, he finds out that it is easier when he can share this burden with Rosaline, who herself lost so much to the feud. <br/>The first step towards mending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ricordanoi

Some people say that in movies, rain always fell when the protagonist was feeling down to emphasize it. But there was nothing like grieving when sun shone its last autumn rays, the day warm and couples walking by. No one saw him – no one paid attention but the sparrows chirping as though to make him feed them. In a way, that was how he had lived his entire life: giving. Giving his friendship to someone who relied on him as though on a crutch. Giving his soul to someone else, someone who never saw in life. Giving himself up to justice in vain, paying the man-price for those who killed and were killed. Of course, he did not do the last one knowingly. It just so happened. Farther down the alley, sitting alone on a bench, the other survivor of the strife. Her composure was fake, that he knew. He knew because he had the same. This particular disposition of the living who feel like they should not be alive – not when their friends, their blood, their love, died. People rejoiced at Verona's new-found peace. It was a bitter peace to him. What was peace worth, when he could share it with none? Verona was wallowing in peace as she did in her youth's blood.   
Rosaline was looking at him now – and she reminded him of her cousins, both of them. And how they would see past the surface. No doubt Juliet had seen the hopelessness of it all. He had no doubt Tybalt had seen past Mercutio's obnoxious, larger than life persona. He would have offered a smile, but he had none to give. No joy left to share, no hope to alleviate the grief – he could not pick himself up, how could he ever do this for someone else? In the end, it was she who had gotten up and walked towards him. Fair, sad Rosaline. He took her hand without really thinking, and when he stood in front of her, she seemed so small, so fragile. But she was a Capulet. She was strong.   
“Let's go and see them. It has been a while.”   
Since the funerals, indeed. A spring spent, a summer wasted and winter approaching. He simply nodded and walked with her. Her hand still in his. She was brave, but the way she was clutching his hand let him know that she would stumble if not careful.   
They did not weep, there was no tear left. The rift between their families filled by a dark-watered Acheron. For it was not the waters of forgetfulness that washed bleached bones to the sand... Graves blooming still, a mockery of the lives that fed them.   
“Turn from dark thoughts.”  
“What if I can't?”  
“Liar. Your friends would not have you grieving. Mercutio would not have you grieving.” She spoke the truth. It hurt but she was right.   
“You are grieving.”  
“I am. But they are at peace, leaving us to recall their memories for those who would rather forget.”  
He wanted to speak, say something, anything, but he choked. The pain slammed back into him, wrecking him. It was too raw still. How could she remain so strong? How could she? Looking to the side, he saw her stricken expression – he must have spoken out loud.   
“I am strong because I have to. Same as you. But we don't need to be strong now.”   
He embraced her, burying his face in her hair, as though it could heal the pain. It did not. But eventually, the storm passed. The sun was falling behind the hills, darkness spreading. 

This night saw Benvolio Montague and Rosaline Capulet tell stories of the dead, for the dead, and bringing them back in fond recollection of tender years where the feud was still an adult word. And there was little doubt that their loved ones watched over them – even if it was untrue, it was a comforting thought. A hopeful one.


End file.
